The Side Effects Of Resurrection
by cheshirexpirate
Summary: Sort of fluff series of one-shots ranging from extremely short to quite long that are sort of linked but not really. Apparently, after coming back from the dead you can be a bit strange...well, stranger.


Disclaimer: I do not own "Pirates Of the Caribbean". If I did, these ideas would be in a script and you wouldn't be seeing them right now...unless they were leaked. This is an on-going project; please bear with me.

Giant flytrap. Why a giant flytrap? There was just one thing she needed from this flytrap and it was a leaf. Unfortunately, it turned out that cutting off that leaf caused the cursed thing pain and so it would not give it up without a fatal, or near fatal, battle. Wonderful. Why did she need this article? And, possibly more importantly, who was "she"?

"She" happened to be a girl named Charlotte who needed this leaf to pay off a debt. When this task was received, she thought it would be somewhat difficult but not impossible. Now, however, as she fought for her life, her mind was beginning to change. The "critter" was not only dangerous because it could bite, probably even swallow, her but because it could also poison her. If that was not enough of an obstacle, she was fighting in water that reached the middle of her thigh. Every step she took felt like she was moving through molasses. And yet there she was, attempting to kill it and not running away after seeing what she was up against, as any sensible person would. Sensible people, of course, did not go after giant flytraps in the first place. Neither did they try to defend themselves with a cutlass that they could not wield with enough strength or expertise to render it useful.

"Why won't you just die?" she asked it, disbelievingly.

As if it could actually give her an answer. The likelihood that it would speak was about as much as it would be for it to surrender.

As Charlotte swung her blade wildly, desperately hoping that she would make some sort of mortal wound, the flytrap was spitting its venom in showers upon her. She had shut her eyes tight to keep them from being damaged by the spray but could not protect a cut on her shoulder, which had begun to sizzle. The thing's fangs had already grazed her in several places and it was all she could do to escape another bite.

Now, despite the fact that she was not running away, as she should, Charlotte recognized that these may, in fact, be her last moments in the earthly world. This being the case, she thought that she may as well start praying for her soul instead of fighting for power.

"Dear Holy Father, I know that I have not always been a good girl. Sometimes I ate one too many biscuits; other times I let my eyes (and my thoughts) linger a bit too long on John, the baker's apprentice but I have tried to live a wholesome life. Some of my mistakes aren't my fault, though I fully admit those that were. Please allow my spirit to pass into Heaven! I will serve time in Purgatory, if need be, but let me have my eternity full of contentedness!"

At this last plea, the flytrap decided that she'd had enough time to pray and swung its maw at her. As she dove for the water she was glad that she had avoided another injury. However, the instant that she stood again, her right leg gave out and she dropped neck deep in the boggy water. She reached to her calf and pressed her hand against its side. Under her fingers was a large gash that extended from her just below her knee to a little above her ankle. Her fatigue had reached a high point and the tear in her leg along with the continuous torrent of the creature's toxin combined with it to cause her to collapse completely into the water. Having fainted, her body flopped, face up, to the surface of the water, saving her from drowning. The flytrap, noting the lack of hacking being applied to its stem, ceased its attacks and began to sway as it was accustomed to.

Captain Hector Barbossa was finally alive...again. After ten years of feeling nothing even the most uncomfortable or painful sensations gave him pleasure, simply because he could feel them. That certainly applied to the walk he was taking in that moment, as the swamp surrounding Tia Dalma's shack was particularly disagreeable. Everything from the squelching sound of water saturated muck and the dense and clingy foliage to the air which was so humid that it was akin to walking through clotted cream was unpleasant. And all of it was enjoyed by the pirate as he took a turn on the banks of the Platano River. Even with a task that he'd rather not pursue ahead of him, he could be contented with the fact that he had rejoined the living in a completely non-skeletal way.

Such were the thoughts that occupied his mind when, straying a mite too close to the edge, his booted foot plunged into it and splashed water up his leg. This was the first sensation that he could not take full satisfaction in, especially since this misstep caused him to see what was, apparently, a dead body.

On his first observation, he assessed the cause of the person's death, which was rather obvious. Basically, there were two options: one, the person killed themselves with the cutlass that was still loosely gripped in their hand or, two, the enormous flytrap that was towering above the water several feet away did the person in. With the cutlass not thrust into the corpse, the second seemed rather more likely.

On his second observation, he took in the details of the situation. Firstly, the plant had definitely had a hand in this as parts of its mouth were smeared with blood and there was only one other living, or previously living, near it. Two, the person had also attacked the plant as they were holding a cutlass and there were unnatural marks embedded in the flytrap's stalk. Three, the attacker was a woman...but that can't be right...

"A woman?" Hector asked himself, stepping closer.

It was only very rarely that he questioned his own reasoning but this development made him stop his analysis of the site. The woman looked distinctly out of place; she wore neither what the followers of Tia Dalma wore nor garb that would signify that she belonged to some local tribe. She didn't wear as much clothing as it was customary for women to wear but the style of what she was wearing told Barbossa that she belonged somewhere in Jamaica or in a more civilized part of Cuba; certainly not in a remote mire. Her entire costume consisted of a plain cream coloured shift with straight arms and a neckline that reached four inches below her collar bone, the skirt of which reached her ankles.

The poor girl was floating in the murky river, her body limp and her limbs bloodied. Having been recently resurrected, in a way rescued, himself, he was feeling generous. Perhaps she wasn't really dead. In that case he would help her. If, however, she really was dead, there was nothing he could do and he would simply confiscate the blade and leave. After all, he was still a pirate and it seemed a shame to waste a good weapon.

Stepping closer still, he kept a secondary focus on the evident enemy of the girl. If the plant was to strike at Barbossa, he would be prepared. Upon reaching the woman, he placed his hand on the left side of her chest, checking her for a pulse and for any signs of lung function. It took nearly a minute for him to discern whether she had any marks of life, her heart was so weak. She was assuredly alive, though. Hector knelt, mentally damning his willingness to help the fairer sex in such situations, as his breeches were becoming increasingly uncomfortable due to excessive moisture. He slid his arms under her arms and knees and drew her out of the water. Miraculously, her hand held on to the cutlass well enough that it still hung from it, even with the movement that Barbossa's gait caused on his way back to the river bank.

They were about half way to safety when the girl's eyes flickered open. This was a huge set back. The instant she could easily make out who was carrying her, she let out a shriek and struggled. She flailed about so much that Hector was compelled to drop her before he found her blade stuck in his head. Even so, when she was released with a splash, she threw the cutlass back at him, closing her eyes and cowering away. Happily, it missed him by several inches purely because of her lack of aim. Unhappily, it struck the giant flytrap, which they were still within biting distance of, in the head. It angrily shook the weapon from where it was lodged and lunged in their direction. Moving quickly, Barbossa pulled out his flintlock pistol and aimed. The shot found its mark and forced the plant to recoil.

"Get up on the bank," he shouted harshly.

"No!" she yelped, clearly terrified.

The monster had recovered and was coming back for him but was thankfully deterred by a slash to its face.

"Get on the bank now, you little trollop!"

The insult was enough to convince her and she turned and ran to the edge of the river within a few moments.

Hector began to move backwards, but it appeared that the flytrap could reach farther than it had originally seemed. As it came ever closer, he pulled out a grenade which he kept on his person in case of emergencies. This was as good a time as ever to use it. He struck a match, pulled out from the band of his hat, lit the fuse and waited for it to burn down somewhat before promptly aiming and tossing the explosive at the creature's base. When he heard the sound of the mid-air blast, he was already running up the bank towards the girl he had rescued. He swiftly turned to ensure that the grenade had done its job and, having seen nothing but floating debris, gave full attention to his beneficiary. To do this, he didn't even need to turn around however, as she was scrambling down the embankment and towards where their opponent had previously been rooted. Hector rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.

"What are you doing?" he called after her, lazily.

Glancing back at him quickly, she continued on rather than responding. The way she advanced towards the middle of the river was rushed and sloppy. Both her arms and legs worked very hard, causing large sloshes. When he had first seen her she had been wet but as she waded, it seemed that she became even more saturated with water, if it was possible.

Finally, she reached her destination and grasped at one of the leaves floating about on the surface. Having clutched it to her chest, she splashed back to the bank, keeping a safe distance from Barbossa. But though she was cautious, walking by him was inevitable as he was standing in the direction that she needed to go. She began to run, trying to get by him as quickly as she could. As she came parallel with him, he reached out and grasped her forearm.

She froze, her eyes expanding rapidly as she refused to look into his. Completely petrified, she did not attempt even to pull away when he reeled her in. Her only reaction was to resist his effort to take the large leaf she was clasping to her bosom.

"I don't know if you realize this, miss, but I just saved your life. Now, if you could give me a reason for your being out here, fighting that creature, perhaps I'll take less offense at your lack of thanks," Hector said, pulling her face up.

The girl continued to look down and seemed to sink a few inches. Captain Barbossa was not a man who was easily moved and could never have been described as sympathetic in general, but he felt a tiny twinge of guilt at having scared her and softened his face softened a bit as he released her. When she didn't speak, he began to think that maybe she couldn't answer.

"Are you mute?"

"No, I just...you're frightening..." she finally replied.

"Aye," he allowed. "That doesn't explain why I received no acknowledgement."

"Truth be told, I-well, I have something that I'm in the middle of. I h-have to go now," she said, hurrying away.

"What are you in the middle of, missy?" he asked moving after her.

"Just a sort of...quest, I s-suppose," she replied, continuing.

Coming up behind her and grasping her around the waist, he said, "I would feel obliged to have more information on it."

She struggled to leave his grip but he held fast.

"I'm afraid that I can't let you go until you tell me what you're up to," Hector chuckled.

"I'm going to Tia Dalma," she answered somewhat desperately, clawing at his arms.

"To do what?"

"To give her this leaf!" she gasped, pulling herself away from the unwanted embrace.

"Strangely enough, I'm going there myself."

"Please don't hold me again," she winced.

Barbossa laughed, "I won't make any promises, dear."

That succeeded only in making her move a foot farther away from him.

"So, what's your name?"

"Charlotte. What's yours?"

"You can call me Captain."

She eyed him suspiciously but didn't inquire further.

"Where are you from?" he continued.

"Hispaniola."

"I meant what port."

"I know."

That was enough to make Hector want to discontinue the conversation and the rest of the, admittedly short, walk was spent in silence. When they reached Tia's shack, Charlotte sprinted ahead of Barbossa and made it into the shanty when he was still a couple of yards away. She and Tia were conversing in a manner that was barely civil on his entering the lean-to and they both looked up at him when he arrived, happy to be done with the uncomfortable exchange. The large leaf was pushed into the priestess' hand and Charlotte left the place as quickly as she had come in. Hector gave Tia an inquisitive look.

"This is no business of yours, Hector Barbossa," she replied, giving him a cold look, which he took as his invitation to take another stroll.

As he headed to another path through the strange surrounding forest, he found Charlotte sitting with her legs slightly bent in front of her, rending the bottom of her shift into strips. Her legs were exposed to the middle of her thighs, displaying a rip across her right leg above her knee and a gash that nearly ran the length of her left calf on the outside of it. She was using her makeshift bandages to bind the latter.

"You should bathe those first, you know," he said, pausing behind her.

"I don't have anything to do that with."

He handed her a flask from his belt. She gingerly took it and opened it, taking a tentative sniff. Recoiling slightly, she nevertheless tipped it against a newly made rag, which she then pressed to her calf. Her eyes pushed closed tightly, but otherwise she didn't seem bothered by the alcohol's sting. Barbossa knelt next to her, picking up another shred of cloth and saturating a section of it with the liquid. As he pressed the fabric to the sore on her thigh, she pushed his hand away.

"I'm just trying to help, lass," he said, moving to cleanse the cut again.

She sighed in a defeated manner and allowed it.

"You know what I was doing in there," she said quietly, indicating the thicket of twisting vines to their right. "But why were you out in the swamp?"

"Getting some air," he said, noting a red stain on her shoulder.

"I don't believe that," she commented faintly, looking at him.

"May I?" he asked, placing his fingers at the edge of her collar.

She nodded and he pulled it just off of her shoulder, dabbing the lesion there clean.

"So, what were you really doing?" she asked, beginning to bandage her leg.

"Just what I said, missy," he replied, picking up a piece of material.

"I don't know anyone who would come out here to get some air."

"Then you don't know many people who truly enjoy life," he said, tying off the cloth on her shoulder.

Nothing was spoken between the two until the third wound was dressed. Hector helped Charlotte to her feet and she brushed herself off. As she stood, the skirt of her chemise dropped to the top of her calf, it being longer than it had appeared to be when she was sitting.

"I suppose you're going back to Hispaniola, then, miss?"

She nodded.

"And you?"

"I'll be taking another walk. Unless, of course, I can assist you with your trip back," he said, inclining his head toward the dinghy sitting at the edge of the water.

"I'm not very good at rowing," she considered. "But only to the end of the river. I can walk to the closest port from there."

"That suits me."

As Barbossa helped her into the boat, a question came to the forefront of Charlotte's thoughts.

"Why did you come to see Tia Dalma?"

"It wasn't so much that I came; more so, I was brought here," he replied, loosening the rope that kept the dinghy attached to the shore.

"That's a strange thing to say," she commented.

"You would think so."


End file.
